


Hard-Pressed

by DrPearlGatsby



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gingerflower, Gingerrose - Freeform, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Rosehux, Roux - Freeform, a drabble that got away from me, literally no plot, rating it M to be safe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrPearlGatsby/pseuds/DrPearlGatsby
Summary: Touch me, Rose thinks, though the thought fills her with burning shame. It’s not the first time, not the only time she’s silently pleaded for the former General to—toact upon her, in whatever form that may take.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	Hard-Pressed

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of GR microfics on twitter and this is meant to have that kind of feel (except it drags on longer)--so apologies if it just feels like an unfinished snapshot.
> 
> Shoutout to the Gingerrose Discord, where endless enthusiasm and great work abounds.

Warm and drowsy from her nap, sticky from the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun, Rose begins coming back into consciousness when she hears the rustle of someone moving through the tent. They’re a great distance from the nearest city, their ship hidden nearby in the dense, barely-habitable woods; but a moment too late she remembers to be on guard. Unwilling to move or wake fully yet, she opens one eye and glimpses bright ginger hair. Suspicions confirmed, she relaxes again into the cot, chasing the sleep she so desperately needs.

Hux rustles into the main chamber of the tent, and Rose hears him breathe in—something like a gasp. She remembers her attire, then, the way she’d kicked off the thin sheet and her coveralls, left in her simple cotton panties and a plain tank. She’d unhooked her bra, flinging it at the end of the bed, tired of feeling the sweat pooling at the underwire and the dig of elastic into her skin. He’s looking—she can sense it.

_As if you hadn’t hoped this would happen_ , says a small, secret voice at the back of her head.

She waits, listening for Hux to move, but he’s silent for moments longer. She reminds herself to breathe—as relaxed as possible—as she imagines his eyes on her body. _Touch me_ , she thinks, though the thought fills her with burning shame. It’s not the first time, not the only time she’s silently pleaded for the former General to—to _act upon her_ , in whatever form that may take.

But then he moves. The rustling sounds further away, slightly, and Rose cautiously opens her eyes a fraction, trying to peek at him. Hux is standing facing his cot—it’s perpendicular to hers, his back turned.

Rose makes a little noise at the back of her throat, and he flinches just slightly. “Hux,” she says quietly, not bothering to cover herself. She wants to catch him looking.

Hux glances over his shoulder at her, but it’s too quick—too furtive a movement. “Tico,” he replies at equal volume. A simple acknowledgement of her presence. Another quiet, careful denial of the desire Rose would swear is simmering under the surface.

Back when they were spy and handler, Rose had intuited that his motives weren’t all good. He’d admitted as much to her later—that he’d only wanted to take down Ren, that he’d hoped to have the Order to himself. It’s been over a year since he’d joined them permanently, rescued at her own insistence by Poe and Finn before any of them knew whom to expect they’d be saving.

Rose sees the good in people. It’s her strength and her flaw all at once: she insists on seeing the best in them. But Hux has been a different story. As certainly as she’s noticed how he seeks her company consistently, for all his subtle ways of apologizing, with all she’s pieced together from brief conversations and files about his dark family history—she knows he’s been changing. That in so many small ways, he’s made his existence to her an apology. More than that—she knows he can tell she isn’t ready to forgive him.

She watches as he unbuttons and removes his long-sleeve shirt, leaving him in a short-sleeved tee and his tailored pants. She’s gotten used to seeing him in his Resistance wardrobe—no more big black boots or exaggerated shoulder pads—and changed clothes in the same room as him many times over, their backs politely turned. But there’s something especially soft and vulnerable about him right now—the way his carefully-trimmed hair flops slightly out of place as he stoops over the bed to fold the shirt; his thin, pale arms. The once-stately General in his white undershirt looking almost gangly, lean.

The want pools warm below Rose’s belly, and before she realizes it consciously she’s made a choice. In the afternoon heat she feels drugged, sluggish; quietly, she comes to stand just behind him. Then she trails one finger up the center line of his back, slowly, pressing into the undershirt as she outlines his spine. He’s warm from being out in the sun, and she watches how he freezes at the contact, waiting.

When Rose’s hand reaches the nape of his neck she lifts her finger, next winding her arms around him and embracing him from behind. She marvels at the way he feels, turning her face to the side so her cheek presses into his back—how easy it is to encircle his trim waist, the hard muscle under her left hand as she moves it up the planes of his chest. Her heart is racing but she keeps her movements gentle, assured, as if he’s a wild animal she’s afraid to spook. _Steady._ Her hand stops when she locates his heartbeat under her palm. In her arms, Hux is stock-still, and Rose keeps her voice light: “To think I believed the rumors about you being heartless when it was just right here.”

Hux remains stiff, waiting, and Rose feels a little sting of rejection. _He’s right. This is a bad idea._

Gently she extricates herself, releasing him, and turns back to her cot—until her arm is jerked backward, his hand on her wrist. When she turns back to face him his eyes are wild, his jaw set in a hard line. Rose stares him down thoughtfully for a moment, then moves in closer. Does she forgive him yet? No, not entirely. But that’s—again—a separate matter, with no one else here to judge her moral conflicts.

With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his cheek. “All this time,” she says, guiding his head down to her and placing a feather-light kiss on his cheek, “all this time, and you were just a man.”

When she pulls back, Hux gapes at her—and then he is kissing her fervently, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, his hands tugging her against his lean, wiry body. Rose follows his lead, abandoning thought for sensation: the gradual, sensual descent of one of his hands down her side toward the exposed skin of her ass; the barely-audible sounds in the back of his throat urging her own incoherent need; the taste of his favorite tea still lingering on his tongue. He walks her back toward her cot and lifts her with both hands. Rose wraps her legs around him, giggling when they both hit the mattress. The bed gives a dangerous _creak_ and they freeze, twin looks of concern as they wonder whether the thing is near to collapsing; but the framework holds.

“Tico,” Hux breathes, holding himself above her by his forearms. “Are you—?” He shakes his head wordlessly.

Rose exhales a single breath in a kind of silent laugh. “There are way too many ways to end that sentence.”

Hux drops their eye contact, momentarily distracted by the swells of her breasts.

“Go on,” Rose teases. “You can look. You can touch. You can… taste.” She whispers the last word, watching as his eyes travel back up her face, his face flushed with more now than the afternoon heat. “I’m a big girl, _General_. I know what I’m doing.”

Something in his expression changes at the sound of his former title—just as she suspected it would. His look becomes predatory, fierce, and for the split second that she’s able to process it, Rose knows that she’s finally pressed him into action.

They don’t waste any more time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone is hanging in there. I haven't felt confident in my writing or inspired for about four months now, and I struggled a lot with the decision to post this because I feel disappointed that I don't write the multi-chapter, more explicit stuff that I feel like makes more people happy. But tumblr is full of posts encouraging fic writers not to be down on themselves, and this is what was in my head. I'm hoping that putting something out there will help me feel more like writing again. Take care of yourselves, y'all.


End file.
